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JFW1415
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 Posted: Wed Aug 06, 2008 4:57 pm Post subject: |
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This has been thoroughly edited.
I would love all feedback you could give me, as I tried my best to incorperate everything you guys said. (I had the most trouble with what Sam said, about it not feeling suicidal, that his body would be telling him not to, so any help there would be hugely appreciated.)
~JFW1415
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Conrad Rice
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| Posted: Wed Aug 06, 2008 5:48 pm Post subject: |
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Well, that was interesting, to say the least. You do have a thing for sad endings, J, I'll give you that.
I don't know why you said once that you couldn't write from a boy's point of view. This pretty much nails it. I can relate to this character, even though I'm not completely despondent like he is. The current happenings and the flashbacks all tie together in the end. The end is a problem though. It seems a little anticlimactic, although one could argue that the flashback with her death is the climax. In any case, that last sentence doesn't really feel like an end. I don't know how you'd fix that, mostly because I'm thinking of a whole bunch of other stuff at the moment. Good luck with it though.
Your description is good. Of course it is though, you're the one who told me I needed to work on mine. Anyway, I can see where he is and where he and his girl were in the flashbacks, so that's good. There's nothing wrong with grammar that I can see, but I'm not really looking for it, so whatever.
Sorry this is so short. I don't put a lot of stuff down when there's not a lot I can see. You did well on this, but like I said, you do have a thing for sad endings.
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Kitty15
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| Posted: Thu Aug 07, 2008 1:14 pm Post subject: |
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Out of Focus
It's dark. The clouds hang low in the sky, painting the world like an old photograph. The sun can't break through. [Awww. What happened to his little sarcastic comment? The 'I picked a great day to do this' line worked really well. You should put it back. I think it would fit best at the end of this first paragraph. Also 'It's dark' is just a little plain for my liking. The first sentence is very important. A fragment might work well to set the mood and atmosphere. Maybe something like 'Dark and dreadful.' or you could possibly add a semi colon rather than a full stop and link it to your second sentence. Am I getting confusing? Basically, I think it would sound good as: 'Dark and dreadful; the clouds hang low in the sky, painting the world like an old photograph. The sun can't break through.']
My shoes keep my feet from getting coated in the gritty sand, but I can see that it is wet, can feel the thicker texture to it when it doesn't cave-in under my feet. [This could be more interesting. It's a little choppy, a little distant. The beauty of present tense is drawing your reader into the action so use it to its full advantage. Maybe: 'My polished, black shoes are coated in the gritty sand. It's damp and more solid than I'm used to. Used to. We used to walk across here, sinking together through the warm, golden dirt. But this is morning ground.' Well maybe that's a little far but I'm a description nazi so sue me XD And who doesn't like to play with a reader's mind? Also, I really would love you to start merging his recollection of her with the present.] The rain last night washed away the remnants from whatever games where were [Tut tut. Where's your spell check, my love?  ] played yesterday. Behind me lie the sole blemishes – a straight line of my shoe prints. They draw attention to themselves, but there's no one around to pay any attention to them. [I think this last line could be a little better phrased. Maybe 'They'd draw attention to themselves, if there was anyone around. If there was anyone but me.']
The beach is empty today, just like me.
-----
"What are you doing?" I asked.
She ignored me, throwing her arms above her head and spinning. Her yellow curls – golden beneath the afternoon sun – lifted off her shoulders, spinning and spinning along with her, beckoning me to come too.
"Dancing!" she said, her voice like a music of its own.
"But there's no music."
"You don't need music to dance, Mike!"
-----
This is a good way to do it. I'm so sick of the silence, but the ocean isn't quiet. It's an endless recording of noise: waves splashing against rocks, the dock, creating a foam cover; gulls crying out to each other, looking for food, killing, scavenging; the echo of my shoes as I walk down this fucking endless dock.
-----
"You're crazy!" I told her as she swirled around again, but I was laughing.
"It's fun! I promise!" She reached out to grab my wrist, pull me closer.
"Fine. But if someone laughs at me…"
"Who's going to laugh? The trees?"
"You."
She drew up right next to me, lifting her mouth to my ear. "I wouldn't laugh at you."
She drew back and pulled a little harder, her soft hand clasped in mine, and I relented. I couldn't stand to be the one causing her to stand still when she was made to be in motion, even if there was no one but me around to see.
"So what am I supposed to do?"
-----
I shove my hands deep into my pockets, ignoring the lint as soft as the warm sand that shifted [Why is the sand described as soft and warm now? It was gritty and wet just a few paragraphs back.] beneath my feet; the paper clips, slashing my fingers, sharp as rocks; the pen I broke when the fucking conference wouldn't end, never ended, the remaining ink as blue as the water that flowed flows over the rocks. I ignored ignore the ocean inside my pocket, a smaller version of what I was I'm walking above, of what I would will soon be engulfed in. [Tut, tut. Careful with your tenses!]
I didn't don't bother stripping out of my Ralph Lauren suit, figuring it would will help weigh me down. [Maybe a semi colon after suit and delete figuring?] But even with my shoes, I don't think I'm heavy enough. And I don't want to come back up once I do it.
Maybe I should have put rocks in my pockets. I heard of some author who did that once – it sent her straight to the bottom.
I look back over my shoulder, but I can't tell if the end of the dock's three or thirty or three hundred feet away through this fog. I try to tell myself that they wouldn't make a dock that long – that it's probably only a few steps – that if I turned around to get rocks, it wouldn't even take that long.
But I walk forward, convincing myself that my jacket is thick, made for autumn, and that my shoes are big and heavy.
If I turned around, gone to get rocks, I don't think I would be able to make myself come back. And I want to do this. I have to do this.
-----
"You're supposed to dance!" She pulled me closer, grasped both of my hands in hers. Leaned back, pulled against me, left me to do the same. We twirled around, faster and faster, both of us relying on the other to defy the gravity that was crashing down on us.
"This isn't exactly dancing!" I yelled over the tornado we had created.
"Is it fun?"
She spun faster and faster, pulling me along with her. "I guess."
"Then it's dancing!" Her smile was huge, lighting up her pale face. She was all I could see. The rest of the world – the bridge, the trees, the slowly setting sun – they all flashed by too quickly. But she was the constant. She was right there, right in front of me.
-----
It's easier this way. I know it's not right, but it is easier.
I doubt this will feel good. Actually, it will probably feel like shit, having my lungs fill up with water, my clothes weigh me down, darkness everywhere.
But it can't be worse than not doing it.
-----
And then she was gone.
Her fingers let go, and left me to fly through the air alone. I landed on the ground with a thud, and couldn't get my head to stop swimming long enough to focus on her.
But I heard her laughter – the music to her dance.
"I thought you said you wouldn't laugh at me," I accused.
"I'm not laughing at you," she replied, spinning and spinning, closer and closer to the water. She paused for a minute, leaned over, her hands on her knees, a big smile on her mouth. "I'm laughing with you!"
The way she said it, the way she looked, it made me laugh too. She was acting just like a little child, innocent and carefree and happy. The way I used to be. The way she made me again.
But my head was still spinning from our dance, and though I tried to focus on her smile, I couldn't. She became part of the background, just another tree that flashed by every once in a while.
-----
I'm standing here staring out at the ocean, big and menacing, just waiting to eat me up, and all I can think is how much bigger it is than me. I mean, it's bigger than everyone, but it just feels like I'm even smaller than everyone else in the world. Like nothing will happen when I jump in – that no water will even have to move to compensate for my body. Like there's not enough of my body to matter.
It's hungry. The waves claw at me, splashing my legs, my arms, my face, desperately clinging to anything it can reach. Come, it's saying. Come with me – I'll keep you safe. I'll make you feel better. I'll take away all the pain.
And I believe it, because it's easier.
-----
"Are you going to get up?" she asked as she looked down at me. I shook my head, not wanting to be dragged into twirling around again, not after how dizzy the last dance made me.
"Fine. I'll dance by myself!" She swung her arms out again, her laughter flying up into the air, her body seeming to follow.
And then she tripped.
The river behind her engulfed her, dragging her under, pulling her along. The currents were strong, the water ghost white.
It thrashed her around, knocked her head into rocks, made her go limp. I tripped over rocks and roots as I ran towards her – I couldn't get take my eyes off her to look where I was going – and it slowed me down too much. By the time I jumped into the water, I knew she was unconscious.
My clothes weighed me down; my shirt clung to my body. The water was an army – getting in my eyes and blinding me, getting in my mouth and poisoning me. [I don't think getting is the strongest verb. Maybe 'Gushing through my eyes and blinding me, gushing through mt mouth and poisoning me.'] The rocks stood firm, slicing my arms and shirt as I fought my way past, pushing the soldiers away.
My eyes stung – I refused to close my eyes, to let her out of my sight; so water slapped right against them. I didn't struggle as my body got cut up from the rocks underneath, those that I couldn't see.
All I cared about was getting to her. [Maybe reaching her?]
I grasped the rock she had snagged on, the sharp edges slicing into my fingers. Her body was limp in my arms, but I managed to push her up onto the muddy ground, coughing and sputtering as I came up behind her. I sat there for a moment, stunned, looking down at her fanned out hair, the blood coating her head, my blood mingling with hers. Her body was motionless. If I had danced with her, she wouldn't have fallen. If I had looked down, I wouldn't have taken so long to jump in. If I had been stronger, I could have reached her faster.
My fingers shook as I dialed [Might be English spelling but I think it should be double l.] 911.
When I went to bed that night, her blood still coated my body. I didn't want to wash it off – I knew I would never smell like her again, and I wanted one last night.
-----
The last thing I think of is her face with her beautiful smile flashing by, just like on the day it happened when my head was so dizzy I couldn't see anything; just another tree that flashed by every once in a while. There, but out of reach. Visible, but out of focus.
My chest squeezes as I look into the water. It's finally real. I'm not just thinking about it anymore – I'm going to jump. My eyes squeeze shut, and I count to myself. Just like jumping into a cold pool, only this time, I won't come back up.
One.
Two.
Three. [Lovely ending.] |
You're making this tough for me, dear. It's excellent: you've made some lovely improvements. The only further suggestions I have are contained within the main critique: a little more description in places; the smell of the salt or perhaps her perfume as he's twirling with her. I still think you should describe his grip on her lessening as they twirl faster and faster. His palms would be sweaty and he'd be dizzy. I just want to see a tiny bit more of an allusion to the other senses. I want the writers to be able to feel like they are in his position, to be able to feel everything that he feels.
I hope this helps you move that little bit close to perfection. Let me know if you'd like me to take another look,
Heather xx
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Jiggity
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| Posted: Thu Aug 07, 2008 1:30 pm Post subject: |
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The beach is empty today, just like me.
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I think 'The beach is empty today' can stand on its own and be much stronger for it. I mean, then, its as if he's a non-entity anyway. He's there, but the beach is empty. You show us, but then you ruin it by telling.
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I ignored ignore the ocean inside my pocket, a smaller version of what I was I'm walking above, of what I would will soon be engulfed in. |
I love that little piece of imagery, but then you spoil it with unnecessary wordiness that does nothing to enhance the image or further the story. I suggest something like 'I ignore the ocean in my pocket and walk on,' - simplicity is key in this story, so try and be consistent with it.
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| And then she was gone. |
Effectively tells us what you show us in the next sentence and as such, is unnecessary.
*
Overall, the topic is a tired one. Nothing new is presented her; no unique spin is placed on emotional grief. I mean, it's been done you know and its a shame that you put so much effort into it - because it is indeed really well written, only I feel neither the reader or you the writer, are rewarded for the experience, least of all the character. It's so angsty and stereotypical for one to write something like 'the love of my life is dead and so suicide here I come' - an unfair generalisation, but its also an unfair neglect of the character.
I mean, with great grief, comes great transformation and I would have, for once, loved to read and experience and live with a character that toughs it out, that transcends the tragedy and is all the more tragic for it.
It comes down to maturity, I think. That's okay though, I think you show remarkable talent and potential and that while you didn't do anything new, you certainly did the 'old' very well and much better than most. So, kudos.
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Avens Dolor
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| Posted: Sun Aug 10, 2008 3:43 am Post subject: Re: Out of Focus (Edited) |
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Thanks for requesting a critique!
Comments in red.
Out of Focus
It's dark. The clouds hang low in the sky, painting the world like an old photograph. The sun can't break through. Okay, so the fact that the clouds are hanging low doesn't make the world a photograph, right? It's the fact that the sun is filtered and makes things look black and white. I like the concept behind the phrase, but I think that you need to explore it more.
My shoes keep my feet from getting coated in the gritty sand, but I can see that it is wet, can feel the thicker texture to it when it doesn't cave-in under my feet. I would say "when it doesn't cave in as I walk, simply because you've used "feet already". The rain last night washed away the remnants from whatever games where played yesterday. If the rain is important, keep the idea and expand the line. What follows it ("the remnants from whatever games were played yesterday" sounds kind of awkward. Simplify. Behind me lie the sole blemishes – a straight line of my shoe prints. They draw attention to themselves, but there's no one around to pay any attention to them. Awkward line.
The beach is empty today, just like me.
-----
"What are you doing?" I asked.
She ignored me, throwing her arms above her head and spinning. Her yellow curls – golden beneath the afternoon sun – lifted off her shoulders, spinning and spinning along with her, beckoning me to come too.
"Dancing!" she said, her voice like a music of its own. If she answers here, then she obviously didn't ignore him earlier. Make it a postponement instead. The easiest way to do that would be to say: "She just smiled and threw her arms above her head..." Otherwise, you could put her actions first, followed by the question, followed by her answer. I personally think the second way might work best because it'll set the scene for the reader immediately.
"But there's no music."
"You don't need music to dance, Mike!" When she says this, is she still happy? Is she teasing him? Or has this happened before and she's fed up? It could read both ways, and I think that you should give a hint to her tone.
-----
This is a good way to do it. I'm so sick of the silence, but the ocean isn't quiet. It's an endless recording I don't think that "recording" is the right word. of noise: waves splashing against rocks, the dock, creating a foam cover; gulls crying out to each other, looking for food, killing, scavenging; the echo of my shoes as I walk down this fucking endless dock. I really like your first line, but it doesn't seem to fall into the others. You need a better preface before you pop into the "silence vs noise" idea. You might describe a few things about the dock or the ocean first, and then add "Best of all, there isn't silence. I'm so sick of the silence." or something to that effect.
-----
"You're crazy!" I told her as she swirled around again She hasn't stopped and then done another turn and then stopped again, right? She's just continually turning., but I was laughing.
"It's fun! I promise!" She reached out to grab my wrist, pull me closer.
"Fine. But if someone laughs at me…"
"Who's going to laugh? The trees?"
"You." I don't know. I get the idea of the guy as a shy person, but, as a shy person myself I don't think his fear would be the girl laughing at him, especially since she's twirling herself. He would probably be more afraid of being embarrassed ("Embarrassed by who?" "By myself.") or by looking improper. Depending on your character, his background, and the setting, you could pull several other answers. Ultimately the choice is yours. Perhaps he's afraid that she's setting him up to look a fool? I don't know enough about his character to glean that. Show us more.
She drew up right next to me, lifting her mouth to my ear. "I wouldn't laugh at you."
She drew back You used "drew" already. and pulled a little harder, her soft hand clasped in mine, and I relented. I couldn't stand to be the one causing her to stand still when she was made to be in motion, even if there was no one but me around to see.
"So what am I supposed to do?" Does he ask that? Kind of a weird question. I mean, not only is she only twirling, but she's actually holding his hand. Wouldn't he just follow along?
-----
I shove my hands deep into my pockets, ignoring the lint that's as soft as the warm sand that shifted beneath my feet; the paper clips, slashing my fingers, sharp as rocks; the pen I broke when the fucking conference wouldn't end, never ended, the remaining ink as blue as the water that flowed over the rocks. ...I'm not really fond of that line. At first, I thought that he was comparing the lint to paperclips and paperclips to a pen. Clarify? I ignored the ocean inside my pocket, a smaller version of what I was walking above, of what I would soon be engulfed in. Whittle down this line. It loses the power in it's length.
I didn't bother stripping out of my Ralph Lauren suit, figuring it would help weigh me down. But even with my shoes, I don't think I'm heavy enough. Your tenses seem to shift quite a bit. At the beginning of the line you say "didn't" and now you say "don't" And I don't want to come back up once I do it.
Maybe I should have put rocks in my pockets. I heard of some author who did that once – it sent her straight to the bottom.
I look back over my shoulder, but I can't tell if the end of the dock's three or thirty or three hundred feet away through this fog. Has the fog been mentioned before? How does the pen ink remind him of the blue water if the water is grey with fog? Eh? Regardless of that, I would mention the fog towards the start of the line to avoid readers going "Does he have no depth perception?" when he starts talking about not being able to judge the distance. I try to tell myself that they wouldn't make a dock that long – that it's probably only a few steps – that if I turned around to get rocks, it wouldn't even take that long.
But I walk forward, convincing myself that my jacket is thick, made for autumn, and that my shoes are big and heavy.
If I had turned around, had gone to get rocks, I don't think that I would be able to make myself come back. And I want to do this. I have to do this. Another tense switch ("turned... I want to...").
-----
"You're supposed to dance!" She pulled me closer, grasped both of my hands in hers. Leaned back, pulled against me, left me to do the same. We twirled around, faster and faster, both of us relying on the other to defy the gravity that was crashing down on us.
"This isn't exactly dancing!" I yelled over the tornado we had created.
"Is it fun?"
She spun faster and faster, pulling me along with her. "I guess."
"Then it's dancing!" Aww that's pretty cute. Her smile was huge, lighting up her pale face. She was all I could see. The rest of the world – the bridge, the trees, the slowly setting sun – they all flashed by too quickly. But she was the constant. She was right there, right in front of me.
-----
It's easier this way. I know it's not right, but it is easier.
I doubt that this will feel good. Actually, it will probably feel like shit, having my lungs fill up with water, my clothes weigh me down, darkness everywhere.
But it can't be worse than not doing it.
-----
And then she was gone.
Her fingers let go, and left me to fly through the air alone. I landed on the ground with a thud, and couldn't get my head to stop swimming long enough to focus on her.
But I heard her laughter – the music to her dance.
"I thought you said you wouldn't laugh at me," I accused.
"I'm not laughing at you," she replied, spinning and spinning, closer and closer to the water. She paused for a minute, leaned over, her hands on her knees, a big smile on her mouth. "I'm laughing with you!"
The way she said it, the way she looked, it made me laugh too. She was acting just like a little child, innocent and carefree and happy. The way I used to be. The way she made me again.
But my head was still spinning from our dance, and though I tried to focus on her smile, I couldn't. She became part of the background, just another tree that flashed by every once in a while. I would personally strike "every once and a while" because it seems so vague and replace it with something else like "as my head spun" or "as the world whirled by" or what have you.
-----
I'm standing here staring out at the ocean, big and menacing, just waiting to eat me up, and all I can think is how much bigger it is than me. I mean, it's bigger than everyone, but it just feels like I'm even smaller than everyone else in the world. Like nothing will happen when I jump in – that no water will even have to move to compensate for my body. Like there's not enough of my body to matter.
It's hungry. Coming fresh off the last line, it sounds like he's saying that his body is hungry. The waves claw at me, splashing my legs, my arms, my face, desperately clinging to anything it can reach. Come, it's saying. Come with me – I'll keep you safe. I'll make you feel better. I'll take away all the pain. Your starting italics here is off, by the way. It's after the "C".
And I believe it, because it's easier to.
-----
"Are you going to get up?" she asked as she looked down at me. I shook my head, not wanting to be dragged into twirling around again, not after how dizzy the last dance made me.
"Fine. I'll dance by myself!" She swung her arms out again, her laughter flying up into the air, her body seeming to follow.
And then she tripped.
The river behind her engulfed her, dragging her under, pulling her along. The currents were strong, the water ghost white. Mention the river before.
It thrashed her around, knocked her head into rocks, made her go limp. I tripped over rocks and roots as I ran towards her Describe him struggling to get up, and how the world is still rolling. – I couldn't get my eyes off her to look where I was going – and it slowed me down too much. By the time I jumped into the water, I knew that she was unconscious.
My clothes weighed me down; my shirt clung to my body. The water was an army – getting in my eyes and blinding me, getting in my mouth and poisoning me. The rocks stood firm, slicing my arms and shirt as I fought my way past, pushing the soldiers away. The extended metaphor is kind of rough.
My eyes stung – I refused to close my eyes, to let her out of my sight; so water slapped right against them. I didn't struggle as my body got cut up from the rocks underneath that I couldn't see. "the rocks underneath that I couldn't see" is a pretty laborious line. Refine it.
All I cared about was getting to her.
I grasped the rock that she had snagged on, the sharp edges slicing into my fingers. Her body was limp in my arms, but I managed to push her up onto the muddy ground, coughing and sputtering as I came up behind her. I sat there for a moment, stunned, looking down at her fanneddashout hair, the blood coating her head "coating" probably isn't the best word for blood, at least in this situation. Besides, she's just been in a river so most of the blood would've washed off and you'd only see fresh blood that was coming now., my blood mingling with hers. Her body was motionless. If I had danced with her, she wouldn't have fallen. If I had looked down, I wouldn't have taken so long to jump in. If I had been stronger, I could have reached her faster. These last couple of "if..." lines are kind of cliche. If you think you really need them, they could use some work.
My fingers shook as I dialed 911. Where'd the phone come from? A cell phone? Mention him getting it out. Here's a thought--mention it when he's doing inventory of his pockets. It'll bring more meaning to this scene.
When I went to bed that night, her blood still coated Again with the "coated". Not the best descriptor. my body. I didn't want to wash it off – I knew I would never smell like her again, and I wanted one last night. Okay that's just creepy. Did she often smell like blood? Because I doubt her blood smells like the perfume she wore.
-----
The last thing I think of is her face with her beautiful smile flashing by, just like on the day it happened when my head was so dizzy I couldn't see anything This line, and especially this clause, stumbles. Be more precise.; just another tree that flashed by every once in a while. There, but out of reach. Visible, but out of focus.
My chest squeezes as I look into the water. It's finally real. I'm not just thinking about it anymore – I'm going to jump. My eyes squeeze shut, and I count to myself. Just like jumping into a cold pool, only this time, I won't come back up.
One.
Two.
Three.
__________
M'kay. I liked the flashbacks, which I thought tied things together pretty well, but I didn't really get the "she's the one and only!" vibe from them. You need to talk more about how special she is--about how she makes him feel, and why no one else could do the same thing.
The piece is a little angsty, but I mean he's killing himself so I don't see how you can avoid that. I would only make it less verbose. Concentrate on shortening your descriptions. Make the prose like his thoughts and like the setting--sparse, empty, black-and-white. Pull the beauty of a cloudy ocean into the scene.
I think that this would work far better if you put a different spin on to it. I think that some others have mentioned how tired the "I am suicidal because my lover died" theme is, and so I would suggest trying to freshen this. One idea would be to take out the suicide altogether. Have him drop flowers in the water. Have him throw out her ashes. If you want to keep his death, then put a different light on the lead-up. Make your prose as clear and beautiful and simple as it can be, and make the reader angry that he's killing himself and angry that he can't see how lovely things can be. Give your narrator more flaws. Not being able to save his girlfriend/wife/sister isn't a flaw, so you need to make him less martyr and more human.
If you have any questions, feel free to PM them to me!
Avens
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| Posted: Sun Aug 10, 2008 8:38 pm Post subject: |
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Random Though #569: First review in ages. Bear with me. I may get sentimental.
I've been reading a lot of books lately, two by Cormac McCarthy and Irvine Welsh's latest. Bob Dylan's autobiography I finished yesterday. Fantastic stuff. And what Bob does best is combine words in a way that works. It sounds silly to talk about it, because you pretty much expect writers to do so, but many times I've stopped reading a book in mid-sentence, corrected it inside my head, scratched out the words that break the rythm. You're a terrific writer. Sometimes I wanna get on a plane, go to your house and smother you with a pillow, you're so good (I'm a sore loser). But one of the problems you have is that you keep a sentence going, a sentence that was working perfectly fine a few words ago, a sentence that sounded good, a sentence that worked, and you ruin it a bit with a couple of extra words. It's not something that irritates the reader, or breaks his concentration, or even makes him dislike the thing. It's not that terribly important.
But what it does is keep the reader from being totally there. I can't read your stuff and forget about what sorrounds me, not hear somebody talking behind me, be completely in the tale. My stuff never does that to anybody either. But McCarthy, Welsh, Elmore Leonard and Bob Dylan can do that, easily. You can be on a plane for twelve hours, be done with a 293 page book in what seems like a heartbeat, and find out that you're landing in ten minutes. It's silly to compare you to people like that, but it's also silly to crit your stuff like you're writing fan-fiction. Your stuff is good. It could be great. Let's take some examples, alright? Go:
"It's dark. The clouds hang low in the sky, painting the world like an old photograph. The sun can't break through."
That stands out. Breaks the flow. The first sentence is short, the last one two. The middle sentence should be quick as well, it shouldn't make the reader think. Metaphors like that make somebody read sentences twice. It just doesn't draw the reader in. Also: "painting the world like an old photograph" doesn't really make sense.
"My shoes keep my feet from getting coated in the gritty sand, but I can see that it is wet, can feel the thicker texture to it when it doesn't cave-in under my feet."
The last part of that sentence is too long, feels like you're trying to explain yourself. Like you don't feel your words are enough. I would take out the "when it doesn't... etc", or just the whole part I've bolded up. Gritty seems like an unnecessary adjective too. Breaks the flow. Read it out loud. Works better without it.
Random Thought #600: I've always liked to think that I swear pretty good and I've never understood why people don't like swearing. It adds to a sentence. Makes it sound better. You have to know where to put your fucks and shits though: "this fucking endless dock" should be "this endless fucking dock."
"I didn't bother stripping out of my Ralph Lauren suit, figuring it would help weigh me down. But even with my shoes, I don't think I'm heavy enough. And I don't want to come back up once I do it. "
That's a great little snip. It just sounds good. I like the way you let us know what he's doing without plain telling us. It's a nice touch to know he wants it done, and he wants it done quick, that it's not something he necessarily likes to do, wants to do, but something that he feels he should, as soon as possible, stat. The paragraph above it doesn't work quite as well. It's good he's thinking about other things, like the stuff he has inside his pockets, but again, sentences run too long.
You know what?
First-person shouldn't be poetic. It should sound authentic. I don't mean that you shouldn't use metaphors at all, that you should narrate exactly like you talk (althouth I do that). But narration should be something someone could actually think-- could actually, you know, narrate. You can sound poetic, but you must sound real, always be real. When you talk about someone you love, someone that's dear to you, things like "she ignored me, throwing her arms above her head and spinning. Her yellow curls – golden beneath the afternoon sun – lifted off her shoulders, spinning and spinning along with her, beckoning me to come too" make sense but you can't talk like that about your pockets. It just slows the story down.
Random Thought #665: Virginia Woolf.
Let's talk about something else. I hate flashbacks. OK. I don't hate flashbacks, I hate that they're considered flashbacks. Like, when you're reading a book, and there's a break in the page, and then there's a text written like this. I hate that. I like stories that have the past, present future, thoughts, all mashed up together. Readers are smart. You don't have to label your shit. You just plow along, and keep telling your story. Itallics are not necessary. This is something I always say. Nobody ever listens, and that's OK, because it's not like it's some big thing that every good writer avoids. I just don't like it. It feels clumsy. But whatever.
Your story:
I think you should lose the death scene. I'm talking about the flashback. First of all, it seems like a silly death. Dancing and then tripping. It feels like you were just trying to give an explanation as to why he is killing himself. It's better to just leave the flashbacks as a good memory, as him being happy with her. That works. Him thinking about the good past, but stuck in the crappy present. Look, the reader knows the girl is gone. Dead, or just away somewhere. It doesn't matter. You shouldn't leave it so crystal clear. You should really lose the death scene.
I like this story a lot, all things considered. There's hundreds of other stories like it, I wrote one some months ago called Anniversary, but it's nice to see how everybody has a different take on suicide and death. The last few sections are great, with the exception of the death scene. The kind of thing you get goosebumps by reading. You also have a great way of telling us about a character without actually telling us about him. The guy not wanting to stand up when the girl is dancing. It's this fun? "I guess." That sort of thingies are great.
I hope this has been helpful. I vague sometimes. Anyways, good luck with the contest. I'd tell you to keep writing, but I know you will. Thanks for the read.
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myfreindsavamp
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| Posted: Mon Aug 11, 2008 4:01 am Post subject: |
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Although it did have it's sad and unfoucused parts it was beautiful. Sad but beautiful. This will probable not count as a reveiw but heck atleast I can tell you how much I liked it.
Beautiful! Mesmerising! I nearly forgot I was reading something. I felt like the character a little bit although I'm a girl.  
Good job.
-AMber
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XxxDo
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JFW1415
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| Posted: Sat Aug 30, 2008 1:28 am Post subject: |
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This has been edited. I mainly used Icaruss's critique, and I ended up taking out the girl's death scene. So, two questions for all of you:
1) I want the reason for the girl to leave to be vague, but do you get that she leaves/dies?
2) A lot of people have been telling me that I ramble in perfectly good sentences, and I'm seeing that. The only thing is, I'm bad at spotting it. While I'm learning to spot my own rambles, can you guys point them out to me? Just so I can see more of what you mean.
Thank you to all whom have read this, and to all who will read this new version! xD
~JFW1415
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Conrad Rice
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| Posted: Sat Aug 30, 2008 9:51 pm Post subject: |
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Hmm, I am back to see about the two things you want answered here.
1. I understood that the girl left and died, but I might have understood that only because I read it when it was very plain. You might consider making it just a tad more obvious, however this is where I get difficult and say I don't really know how you'd do that. You could disregard my advice though, since it does work a little as it is.
2.
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| I'm standing here staring out at the ocean, big and menacing, just waiting to eat me up, and all I can think is how much bigger it is than me. I mean, it's bigger than everyone, but it just feels like I'm even smaller than everyone else in the world. Like nothing will happen when I jump in – that no water will even have to move to compensate for my body. Like there's not enough of my body to matter. |
This looks like a ramble to me, especially the two middle sentences. If they could be combined into one sentence, then it might not be so rambly and brambly.
Everything else seems just fine to me. Good work on the editing, I did notice a difference.
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